Elizabeth Bennet's Wager
by WadeH
Summary: Elizabeth Bennet reacts to the Hunsford Proposal in an entirely unexpected way, with the help of several friends from Meryton.
1. The Wager

_Content warning: Contains unrepentant silliness, fluffiness and logical inconsistencies, OOC and maybe OOT. Not recommended for JA purists, Regency Purists or just about anybody of sense and education. Short story, complete in 3 chapters, plus the odd epilog or two._

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 _… This he considered sufficient encouragement; and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for her, immediately followed. He spoke well; but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed… He concluded with representing to her the strength of that attachment which, in spite of all his endeavours, he had found impossible to conquer; and with expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand… Pride & Prejudice Ch 34_

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Elizabeth Bennet tried her best. She really did. She gave it her all. She vowed that she would keep a straight face for at least half a minute if it killed her, but alas, her discipline was not up to the task. First there was a smile, then a snigger, followed by an uncontrollable giggle, then a snort, and finally she could contain herself no longer. She started laughing, and once she started she could not stop. She laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks, and laughed some more, even slapping the table in a vain attempt to restore some sense of decorum; all while Mr. Darcy looked on with a look of absolute alarmed perplexity. She nearly got herself back under regulation, until she saw the expression on his face which was so perfect it set her back to laughing again.

Finally at long last, she managed to get herself under control and addressed the gentleman.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy. I thank you. That was absolutely perfect… pure genius! I believe you have just made me nearly five crowns, from a wager that everyone thought I was mad to make. Let us see them laugh now. **HAH!** _I am the victor_."

Darcy looked at her in confusion and said, "I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, Madam!"

That set off another round of laughing, but Elizabeth eventually got herself back under control and said, "Oh Mr. Darcy, that delivery was perfection itself. Absolutely wonderful! Do you mind if I ask a few questions and make some notes?"

Without waiting for an answer, she jumped up and ran over to the desk to obtain parchment, quill and a bottle of ink. While Mr. Darcy looked on in complete befuddlement, she wrote down a series of what looked more like chicken scratches than anything else, and at the end of a few scratchy lines, she said, "Let me be certain I get this down correctly! _'I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, Madam!'_ Oh, that is perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Darcy looked at her in even more confusion and said, "I still do not understand you?"

Elizabeth laughed again, unable to contain her good humor and said, "Oh, Mr. Darcy, you are such a treasure. May I ask you a few questions? I must have the details. Mrs. Long will kill me if I return with insufficient information."

Darcy, at this point feeling like he had entered Bedlam unbeknownst to himself, nodded his head; not in acquiescence but in confusion; which was good enough for Elizabeth.

"Mr. Darcy, I have so many questions, I hardly know where to begin. Is your wager recorded at White's, Brook's or Boodles; or is it just a private wager? Is it a one-on-one bet, or are there several gentlemen involved? If it is not too impertinent, could you tell me the stakes and the odds? Did you write the speech yourself, or did you have assistance? Some of the language had to come directly from Lady Catherine; did she assist you directly or do you just know her so well you could borrow her words with impunity? Was the colonel's conversation this morning when he told me about your part in separating my sister from Mr. Bingley part of the wager, or was he perhaps trying to influence the outcome? Please, I must know these things. Do I actually have to answer your faux proposal to make the wager complete, or was the bet just dependent on your delivery? Please tell me, I am dying to comprehend the full scope of this endeavor!"

Darcy looked at her in even more confusion, and said, "Madam, I must say that the more you speak the less I understand."

Elizabeth laughed and said, " _Oh! Wonderful!_ Do you mind if I write that down. It is even better than the first one. I must say, you are really turning out to be very diverting Mr. Darcy", at which point Elizabeth sat back to her chicken scratches and wrote down his last statement word for word.

Darcy watched this in even more confusion and said, "Please, explain this to me in the King's English, as I am still quite confused by your actions."

Elizabeth looked at him like she might a particularly thick child, although she suspected the whole interaction was all posturing at this point, and said, "I am speaking of the wagers of course!"

"Wagers?"

Elizabeth said, " _Oh yes, yes! Now I understand!_ You know of _your own_ wager but you could have no way to know about _mine_! How thick can I possibly be?" Elizabeth smacked herself in the forehead a few times to accentuate her general lack of good sense, and continued, "Pray, let me explain."

Darcy nodded once again, and she looked at him conspiratorially and said in a whisper, "I assume, you know ladies wager just like you gentlemen do, even though it is rarely admit it?"

Darcy looked at her in confusion again, and she carried on, "Yes, yes, of course, I know it is not considered _strictly proper_ , but we bend the rules just a touch in Meryton. I won 12 shillings the night of that first assembly you attended when you spent 29 minutes sitting next to Mrs. Long without saying a word. Charlotte was as mad as a wet hen because she bet on 25 minutes and I won with a wager of 30. Everyone thought I was insane, but after you called me just _tolerable_ and _not handsome enough_ , I thought there was probably no limit to your rudeness. I would have bet on an hour if I could find anyone to give me better odds. Mrs. Long keeps all of our simple wagers… she has a phenomenal memory and all the ladies depend on her for fairness and accuracy. We all share the burden of writing down the more complex bets, although I must own that I take the lion's share of the work because I enjoy it."

Darcy just shook his head and said, "Mrs. Long"

"Yes, Mrs. Long. You would not know it to look at her, but she is more important to Meryton society than Sir William. He is just the magistrate."

Darcy, getting more and more lost in this conversation that had left the realm of the sane some time ago, cast around and said, "You said you won five crowns?"

Elizabeth laughed and said, "Yes, five crowns. I can hardly wait, and Lydia will want to kill me."

"How so?"

Elizabeth said perfectly seriously, "When Charlotte wrote me I would be in company with you again, Mrs. Long pooled a dozen ladies to bet me at ten-to-one odds that I could _not_ prove you have a sense of humor! You have done so admirably, and I have the proof right here if you would be so kind as to initial it. I am afraid the other ladies will be sore losers, but really, they all thought they had a sure bet. The general consensus was, ' _Mr. Darcy! A Sense of Humor! Preposterous!'_ **HAH!** They will not be laughing now. I intend to savor my victory at every opportunity, and my mother will be quite insufferable I am certain. Lady Lucas will weep in frustration.

Looking even more confused by the minute, Darcy asked, "My sense of humor or lack thereof was a matter of wagering?!"

Elizabeth looked at him conspiratorially, and said, "Have no fear Mr. Darcy. This is only among the women. The men of the county and outsiders like the Bingley sisters know nothing of this; and of course, you will never be in Hertfordshire again anyway so it is of no import one way or the other. You would not deny us the same amusements you yourself partake in, would you? It is only fair!"

Fitzwilliam Darcy just shook his head trying to clear it, and gestured at a chair.

Elizabeth said, "Oh, where are my manners? Please be seated, Mr. Darcy. Will the other gentlemen take your word on the outcome of the wager, or will you need a statement from me? Like Mrs. Long, I have an excellent memory. I would offer to write out your proposal word for word, but you obviously wrote it out in advance so if you will just show me your copy, I will be happy to initial it to certify its delivery."

Darcy sat and looked at her again, and said, "You keep discussing a wager Miss Elizabeth, but I still have not the slightest idea of what you are talking about, and why would you believe I wrote the proposal in advance?"

Elizabeth looked at him in derision, and said, "Really, Mr. Darcy. You need not keep the charade up. The wager is over, and unless you need a specific answer, I would imagine we are finished."

Darcy said, "Just to humor me Miss Elizabeth, would you tell me _what wager you believe was made."_

Elizabeth sighed in exasperation, and said, "Do not play ignorant Mr. Darcy. The cat is out of the bag. You obviously have a wager with someone… probably the Colonel or perhaps your uncle the Earl or Mr. Bingley. I imagine the terms were something like _'Deliver the most insulting proposal ever spoken to a woman you thoroughly dislike and see how she rejects you'._ I am curious, were you betting on a verbal setdown, general anger, rebellion, tears or smashed pottery? Also I am curious what you would have done if I answered in the affirmative? What was your plan to escape the entanglement? I am most fascinated with your escape strategy. Please, I must know!"

Elizabeth dipped her quill in the inkwell, and watched him in rapt attention, ready to write down all the particulars.

Darcy said, "You believe this proposal was deliberately insulting?"

"Of course! No one could come up with something like that off the cuff, although I must admit that Mr. Collins came close… although I am nearly certain he did practice it… I must remember to ask him if he had a wager on it."

"So you believe this proposal was specifically designed to be rejected?"

" _Of course!_ No man of your sense and education who has been in the world would ever make a proposal like that if they wished to be accepted! Really Mr. Darcy, nobody would expect a woman to accept a suit after such a debacle. I must say it was pure genius to profess love and admiration in one breath and insults in the next. I admire your cunning, sir! I wish I were half that clever, but you can clearly see the whole scheme is obviously preposterous…"

Elizabeth paused a few moments in deep thought and said, "Actually, now that I think about it, there probably _are_ some women who would accepted _any_ proposal from you. I imagine you must have received quite good odds since you were taking a small risk that I would accept it… but then I imagine you must have a plan to deal with that possibility. I believe I interrupted you before you could outline your stratagem for escaping the connection if I accepted. Would you mind telling me how you would accomplish that?"

Darcy's head was spinning and he was nearly physically ill, but he felt he needed to somehow resolve this madness, so he asked, "And you believe I dislike you?"

"Of course, our mutual dislike is obvious to everyone. Mary took a wager at five hundred to one that I would marry you within the year. I always thought she was too sensible to take such a long shot at less than a thousand to one, but she is not always the most sensible of the sisters."

Darcy leaned back in the chair with a sigh, just beginning to comprehend the size of his blunder. It was really quite a mess. This must have been the most humiliating experience of his or anyone else's life; and he spent several moments thinking furiously about what to do next, while the love of his life sat across him in rapt attention, her quill poised ready to write down in exacting detail how he planned to jilt her.


	2. The Stakes

Struggling to think, or even breathe, Fitzwilliam Darcy cast about for something to say… really, anything would do. In desperation, he finally said, "May we defer that question for the moment, Miss Bennet?"

"Of course. Perhaps if you do not mind, you might help me with some easier questions. You are not expected back at Rosings for another three quarters of an hour at least."

Darcy looked at her in even more confusion, and said, "Nobody at Rosings is even aware I am here. What makes you think you know when I am expected?"

Elizabeth replied calmly, "Because Charlotte and I planned a contingency for this. If you came to the parsonage, she was to buy us one hour. I assure you, Charlotte is very reliable. Nobody will miss you. Consider yourself quite safe, we need not worry about propriety, as nobody but Hannah knows you are here, and she is completely trustworthy… or at least in this case she is, as she has not engaged any bets on this outcome."

Completely at a loss for what to say next, Darcy said, "You had a question?"

Elizabeth replied calmly, "Oh yes, can you tell me _exactly which_ excuse Charlotte used for my absence? I could obviously wait for her to return, but I like to take care of things at first opportunity."

Darcy replied in some confusion, "She mentioned a headache!"

Elizabeth jumped up again, went over to a desk on the side of room and brought back a small stack of parchments, then shuffled through until she found one near the top, and made a few more incomprehensible scratches on it, while muttering to herself, "Maria! Maria! What are we to do with you? Will you never learn! I quite despair."

Darcy said, "Do you mean the younger Miss Lucas?"

Elizabeth looked at him and said, "Yes, of course. Can you also tell me if she has spoken a word at Rosings yet?"

"To the best of my knowledge, she has not."

Elizabeth said, "Well, that is something… although really, to get caught out on such a wager will not do."

Darcy once again sought for an explanation and said, "I am afraid you left me behind once again, Miss Bennet."

The lady looked back at him and said, "My apologies, Mr. Darcy. I digress… it is just that Maria is vexing me and I could not keep it to myself. I apologize most profusely."

Darcy said, "Would you mind explaining that, as if to a child… a not particularly bright one."

Elizabeth said, "Maria is sixteen, and she should be a much better gamester by now. We all despair. She does fine with challenges, but is a complete muddle on odds and predicting behavior. For example, I simply wagered that Charlotte would use a headache based on my knowledge of Charlotte. She is extremely clever, but lazy, so she will use a headache by preference rather than a more complex prevarication at least seven times out of ten. I simply depended on that. Maria should not have allowed me to catch her on that, or at the very least should have demanded better odds. I really must take the child under my wing, or maybe give her to Lydia… Yes, yes! That is it. Lydia is not fond of tutoring, but I will impose on her."

Darcy asked, "What do you mean by challenges?"

Elizabeth dug through the stack of parchments, pulled out one and showed it to him, although he could not read it any better than any of the previous lot, and said, "Here it is. Louisa Golding bet her that she could not get through… what was it... Oh yes, here it is… nine visits to Rosings without saying a word. She has managed seven so far, which means she is doing tolerably, do you not agree? Her doe-eyed look is sheer perfection."

She looked at him expectantly, whether for agreement or understanding was unclear; and so he simply nodded his head, exactly as he would if he could understand her.

He then shook his head again, and said, "You mentioned Miss Lydia?"

Elizabeth said, "Oh yes, Lydia hates tutoring beginners, but really, since she is the best of us, she will simply have to do her duty! Yes, it is to be tutoring until Maria comes up to scratch. I am quite determined!"

More confused than ever, Darcy asked, "You say, Miss Lydia! Your youngest sister, I believe? She is the best of you?"

Elizabeth looked at him in confusion, and then her expression cleared up and said, "Ah, yes. I apologize once again Mr. Darcy, I keep forgetting how little you know of our society. Yes, Lydia is the best of us. Her current fortune is nearly £500 more than mine. Do you know she had Mr. Wickham measured down to his toes within less than a minute? She already had her strategy mapped out and was in process that day you and Mr. Bingley met us in Meryton… do you remember that day?"

"How could I forget it?"

Elizabeth looked at him in perplexity and said, "It was a fairly ordinary day, aside from Lydia starting a new project."

Darcy looked at her in confusion again and said, "Might you elaborate?"

Elizabeth said, "Oh yes, my apologies again Mr. Darcy. I keep forgetting how little you… well, again my apologies."

That said, she dug through her papers again until she found another sheet and made a few marks on it, saying, "My apologies again Mr. Darcy. I have to keep track of how many times I go off on tangents you cannot understand without the appropriate background; as my mother and Lady Lucas have an ongoing wager about it…. so far, Lady Lucas is ahead… now where was I… Oh yes, Mr. Wickham. Since Lydia ascertained his nature first, she got to manage the project."

She looked at him as if that explained everything, and he said, "Miss Lydia? Project?"

Elizabeth said, " _Do not tell me you let Lydia fool you with her bubbly imbecile routine!_ I am all astonishment! Really, Mr. Darcy. A poor gambler such as Mr. Wickham will fall for that every time, but I thought a proficient gamesman such as yourself would see right through it! Perhaps she is better than I give her credit for…"

With that she seemed to forget all about him, while tapping her fingers against her chin in thought.

Darcy, fearing he lost her to deeper ruminations said, "You mentioned a project?"

She replied, "Of course, you may not know about that. As I said, Lydia determined he was a rake and a gambler within seconds, so she managed the project. The town's tradeswomen managed his debts until he got exactly £25 over what he could pay; and of course, we made sure every woman within twenty miles knew what he was about while Lydia distracted him from everyone else. She is quite good at challenges; almost as good as I am. Once his debts exceeded what he could pay we simply bought all his vowels and had Sir William send him off to debtor's prison. You do know of course it only takes £20 of debts to accomplish that?"

Darcy sat staring at her in stunned disbelief. Wickham, the bane of his existence, the man who tried to ruin him and his sister; whom he had chosen to allow to roam free in a vain attempt to protect his sister's reputation; had been reeled in and given justice by a bunch of country ladies and tradesman's wives and daughters.

He asked, "How long did this _project_ take?"

Elizabeth said, "Oh the usual, I believe it took about two months for him to run up that much debt; and of course we had organized a few confederates in the militia to fleece him for some debts of honor just as extra surety. It would not do for him to find enough ready blunt to pay off some of his debts, as then we would have to start all over; or perhaps buy some vowels from you. I did mention Lydia is the best of us, but easily bored, so she agreed to tutor Mary King on the appropriate tactics. Miss King actually finished the task by claiming a mysterious inheritance of £10,000; and he fell for it like a lamb to the slaughter. It was fortunate she had completed her training, as Mr. Wickham tried to impose on her by force near the end and she had to… er… well, probably best not to go into detail about our defensive strategies. They are slightly embarrassing in mixed company. Of course, it was Miss King's first defense, so it was not as clean as you might hope for. Her aunt made her clean her own dress, and blood is so difficult to get out, but her aunt said it served her right for wearing white."

Darcy turned pale and said, "Blood?"

Elizabeth looked at him and said, "Really, Mr. Darcy. I cannot believe you do not already know of all these things. Fear not, she did not cut off any parts he will particularly need in prison! All is as it should be."

Darcy thought, _'All is definitely_ _not_ _as it should be!'_


	3. Game Play

With the tale of Wickham, Darcy realized something important. He was actually in love with a vague shadow of Elizabeth Bennet, but the real-live Elizabeth Bennet was even more fascinating and lovely by orders of magnitude. If even a quarter of this was true she would be like a Valkyrie, but he had not the slightest doubt that it was all true; as well as a sense she was just toying with him for her own amusement.

Darcy also realized he was walking a tight-wire with a gaping chasm on both sides, which meant he needed to either proceed carefully or throw caution to the winds. His proposal he had been ever-so proud of was a shambles, and he was not at all certain he could salvage it, or even retain enough of an acquaintance to start over and court her properly. To buy some time, he decided to gather more details.

"Miss Bennet, you clearly do not have a headache, so would it be untoward for me to ask the real reason you did not come to tea?"

"To be honest Mr. Darcy, it is just too tedious. We cannot get anybody within fifty miles to wager on Lady Catherine or Colonel Fitzwilliam because they are entirely too predictable. Mrs. Michaels threatened to poison us if we took advantage of the relative inexperience of any of the maids… not that any of us would do such a thing, but we were happy to see her taking charge of her flock as is proper. Charlotte does her gaming while Lady Catherine blathers on, but I have to do mine while walking; so I decided to remain and take care of some work."

Darcy, once again quite over his head said, "Gaming? Work? Walking? Mrs. Michaels?"

Elizabeth said, "Since I assume those are questions, do I need to make Lady Lucas even more insufferable by admitting that I was off on tangents? You must be the judge, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy said, "I believe none of those require chicken scratches, Miss Bennet."

"Mrs. Michaels is the cook at Rosings, and as you well know the power of the housekeeper is as nothing to the cook. Nobody will wager with Mrs. Michaels because she almost never loses, and she watches her flock like a mother hawk! She is quite formidable."

Darcy once again nodded, almost as if he understood.

Elizabeth continued with her instruction saying, "By gaming, I meant the games we play with gentlemen. We of course cannot do so directly… you know, propriety and all that. So we either do the games through the post, or we have a few trusted intermediaries… fathers and husbands and the like that will go into town and do our bidding. Men tend to be more foolish so we all feel a bit guilty about fleecing them, but we usually get over it. Now what did I leave out? Oh yes, gaming. _You do not really believe I just idly wander around the woods for no reason to you?_ That is when I work on my chess games. Charlotte does the same in the parlor, as Lady Catherine's speech patterns are very restful and conducive to deep thought, and there is the added benefit of removing any slight chance her husband will disturb her concentration. I think that about covers it."

Darcy said, "Chess? You play chess?"

Elizabeth said, "Yes, we do that through the post. It is a little tedious, but it gives our victims more time to think so we abide the inconvenience. And of course, we use the money from the newspaper to supplement our training fund for younger girls, and keep the winnings for our own fortune or spread it among our protégés."

Darcy said, "The newspaper?"

"Oh yes, Charlotte publishes in the Courier and I am in the Post. We try to limit our games to a dozen at a time, as we still have our ladies pursuits to take care of."

Darcy for the first time in the conversation found himself chuckling, then much like his lady love had done at the beginning of the affair, it worked up to a snort, and then to a full-on bit of laughter which ultimately threatened to leave his breeches in a quite unsuitable condition before he finally was able to get himself back to order, wiping tears from his eyes and slapping the table just like Elizabeth had done.

He finally said, "So you are the mysterious EB? I am one of the players in the Post, so I have played several games with you. I do not suppose I could have my £500 back?"

She looked at him quite intently and said, "I think not, Mr. FD! You should really learn to use your knights better, and I can reel you in with a queen sacrifice eight times out of ten. And besides that, if I give you back your £500, it would put my personal fortune under £30,000 and I cannot abide that!"

Darcy sat in stunned silence at the enormity of how badly overmatched he was in this bargain. He had an estate with a park ten miles around and hundreds of tenants, and it would still take him years to amass a fortune like that.

He sputtered and stammered, quite unable to form a coherent thought, and finally said, "You did not mention your work?"

Elizabeth went back over to the desk and removed one large parchment, more complex than the rest, unrolled it, and put paperweights on the corners. Then she explained, "This is a fairly complex wager. There are enough different people with different outcomes and odds we have to keep track of it in writing. This is the outcome of the _Bingley Bet_ , so I was noting down all the winners and losers. Naturally, Charlotte will check my work when she comes back to the parsonage."

Darcy said, "The Bingley Bet?"

Elizabeth said, "Oh, I see your cousin did not inform you. He verified this morning that you were the principle agent in trying to separate Mr. Bingley from my sister Jane. I really should thank you, as I made a tidy sum. Everyone fell for the obvious, thinking it would only be his sisters."

Darcy's face went pale, and said, "You know?"

Elizabeth said, "Of course we know, but you did not think we would allow it did you? Jane gave Mr. Bingley these months to learn the workings of his own heart, as she was not certain she wanted a man that easily led. She has been these three months in town increasing her fortune with our uncle as intermediary, although I must say our aunt is growing tired of her presence as he usually performs the service only for her. Jane ultimately decided in Mr. Bingley's favor due to his many other fine attributes, particularly since she is the one who will do the leading, so they are betrothed. I only waited for Colonel Fitzwilliam to tell us about your scheme as we wanted independent confirmation."

Darcy sat in stunned silence, and then the enormity of the entire debacle finally came crashing down on him, and he came to the startling realization that he had just been humbled in a most thorough manner, and he would never again be able to hold his head high anywhere in England. This was the most mortifying moment of his life, and as far as he could tell; probably the last time he would ever really be able to talk to Elizabeth Bennet. He had started the evening thinking he was the one to elevate her to his level, but now realized that was akin to a worm trying to elevate a hawk. She was his superior in every conceivable way.

With the greatest feeling of despondency, Fitzwilliam Darcy looked at Elizabeth Bennet with a look of complete and utter defeat on his countenance. He could feel his soul shrinking up into a ball like a frightened child, and he had not the slightest idea of what to do next, except slink away in shame and try to put together some way to live some kind of shadow existence for the rest of his life. He now had a firsthand precise and detailed map of exactly how much his arrogance, conceit and selfish disdain for others outweighed his consequence. Perhaps he was a man who needed to be humbled, but he was not in the least certain he would survive the experience.

He was startled out of his reverie by the lady, who started speaking quietly.

"Do I have your absolute, complete and undivided attention _now_ , Fitzwilliam?"

He stared at her, and nodded sheepishly, perfectly willing to agree to _anything_ to extend his time in her company, because she was sitting there like a goddess, the perfect complement to him, the perfect companion of his life, the perfect mother for his children; and he had allowed his insufferable pride and arrogance to strip away all hope of happiness.

She locked her eyes on him, and he found he could not look away. He felt like she was reading his thoughts down to his very soul, perhaps measuring his worthiness; and he could not help but feel a woman such as this must find him wanting.

When she had him locked down and staring at her in absolute rapt attention, she started speaking.

"Jane is not the only Bennet lady waiting for the man she loves to learn his own heart. I apologize for making this so _very_ difficult, but it was necessary. As I am sure you have surmised, I did it quite deliberately. I knew perfectly well you did not wager on a proposal. The man I love would not do that; but I am also not willing to be anybody's second-best, or second-chance, or second-choice, or second-anything. You are a good man; perhaps the best of men. You care for hundreds with the most diligence of any man I have ever known. You came into your responsibility when you should have still been at Cambridge, and any error on your part can cost lives and fortunes. Every servant and tenant in Pemberley, and every tradesman within a dozen miles gives you a glowing recommendation. You only lack manners and a bit of humility to be the perfect man for me. I know about your sister and can forgive your carelessness in dealing with Wickham, as I would do _far worse_ than that to protect one of my sisters. I know I am a woman, but I am not inferior and will allow no man alive to think otherwise. No man will claim me as anything except an equal. _Am I your equal, Fitzwilliam_? If I am, you may say what you came here to say, but try to do a better job of it."

The last was said with a smile that removed some of the sting, and Fitzwilliam Darcy felt like a man who had dropped through the trapdoor on the gallows, only to have the rope break at the very last second. Perhaps he was wholly unworthy, but he had been given a reprieve and would make the most of it if it killed him.

He jumped from the table, fell to his knee, took her hand and said, "Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Perhaps one day I will consider myself your equal, but not today. Today you are my superior, and I will brook no opposition on that point. It has taken the most humbling experience of my life to teach me what it means to be a man worthy of the love of a woman like you, and I beg you with every bit of my heart, which you already hold in your hand, to give me the chance to earn that trust. I know it is a long and difficult road, but I do believe I can come up to scratch in five or six decades. Elizabeth Bennet, love of my life, will you do me the great honor or becoming my wife, for I assure you, I shall have no other and I will pursue you like a madman until you either accept me or demonstrate those defensive strategies?"

The look of heartfelt delight was all the answer he needed, and Fitzwilliam Darcy was quite surprised to find himself flat on his back on the floor being kissed with a passion that he was certain would leave his betrothed a widow if she did not relent. At least, he _would_ have thought that if he could think at all. For some time though, thought was as far away from his capabilities as flying.

Eventually they determined that they would either need to slow their passion down a bit or the raging inferno of their feelings would cause actions they would later repent. Elizabeth, ever the more sensible, with the greatest reluctance managed to disengage from the man her heart had picked out in Meryton six months ago, to lay beside him on the floor. She was quite sensible enough to realize the impossibility of using her head to argue with her heart. The two were as overmatched as if she made wagers with a five year old. No, her heart would have its way, regardless of what her head thought, but she was quite comfortable that both were in complete accord.

As they lay there in perfect contentment, and perfect assurance that all in the world was as it should be, Elizabeth bestirred herself to make an odd remark.

"Kitty is going to kill me."

"Why my love?"

Elizabeth laughed, and said, "She thinks I don't know, but she bet Lydia it would take at least until the summer to secure you. She thought I would have to ambush you at Pemberley when I go to Lambton in the summer. Of course, Mama told her she was being foolish, but nobody ever listens to Mama, even though she is nearly always right. They all get sucked in by her screeching silly mercenary act, and she takes ruthless advantage of it."


	4. Epilog

_Happy for all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got rid of her two most deserving daughters. With what delighted pride she afterwards visited Mrs. Bingley, and talked of Mrs. Darcy, may be guessed._

Of course, she was _not_ quite so happy that she had to pay Jane over the wager that Lydia would be the first married. The little minx had been in love with Steven Golding for ages, and once Jane and Lizzy secured their beaus, Lydia had made bets both in Meryton and in Town that she would be the first married, then she simply forced her future brother-in-law to use his connection with the archbishop to obtain a special license. Fitzwilliam Darcy naturally went along with the scheme as it cost him nothing, and there were very few limits on what he might do to pull one over on his ladylove. Naturally, his puffed up chest when relaying the incident to his betrothed was deflated a bit when she pulled out yet another bit of chicken scratching, and said, "Maria is still quite hopeless as expected, but _I cannot believe Charlotte wagered on Mr. Bingley! Mr. Bingley! As if Lydia would use anything but the best on an important task! Tsk, Tsk!"_

Mr. and Mrs. Golding took a short wedding trip, before they left together for Spain to join his regiment and take up his Captain's commission. Mrs. Lydia Golding had a standing wager that working together as a team her most excellent husband would make General within two years, but she had to give fearful odds to get anyone to bet with her at all.

Mrs. Bennet was ever so happy that her most deserving daughters would all repair to Derbyshire and the continent, because really, the betting pool was becoming quite too vexing in Hertfordshire. There were entirely too many sharks and not enough minnows for her liking, and removing the three principle sharks should allow her to work more diligently on the business of her life… turning all of her girls into implacable games-women, and it must be admitted that she had her work cut out for her with Mary and Kitty.

* * *

 _A/N: This was the original end of the story, but I'm having so much fun with it I decided to add a few more epilogs. All the rest of the chapters are more or less standalone._

 _Wade_


	5. Bepilog

"Mr. Darcy, might I ask an impertinent question?"

"I would be delighted to answer, Mrs. Darcy."

Fitzwilliam Darcy looked down at his lovely bride lying beside him in the large four-poster bed that had become their favorite refuge from the world; not that the world was really all that unpleasant. He heard her give a small sigh, that was clearly one of disappointment, but so subtle none but her husband could detect it… well, except for Lydia or Charlotte or Jane or her mother or Mrs. Long, but really that was about it.

"How much, Mrs. Darcy?"

Elizabeth giggled and said, "You know as well as I do that it is the pride of the thing, not the money. I had six to four with Mrs. Reynolds that you would use _'I am at your disposal'._

Darcy looked at her in mouth-hanging-open-deer-in-the-lamplights astonishment and said, "You wagered with _Mrs. Reynolds_! Egads! I thought you have better sense than to bet with a housekeeper. Even I know the futility of that."

Elizabeth laughed, and said, "It is the challenge of the thing, but do not concern yourself sir, my mother taught me better than to make a large wager with someone of Mrs. Reynold's caliber."

Darcy chuckled and said, "Should we return to the question at hand, or shall we…"

All thoughts of questions and in fact any discussion whatsoever were deferred for some time, but ultimately they came back to the subject.

"Fitzwilliam, when did you first know you loved me?"

Darcy looked at her critically, and as always, gave his full and undivided attention to her question; not being prone to suicidal tendencies. "I could not answer that without a better definition of the threshold required to satisfy the query. I cannot fix on the day or the hour or the gesture, for I was in the middle before I knew I had started. I loved you when you were caring for your sister in Netherfield, but it was a weak and middling sort of love. It did not even require a sonnet to suppress it, what with my arrogance and pride performing the office. I was certain I loved you when I made my abdominal proposal, but that was a boy's love, certainly unworthy of respect. I loved you one hundred times as much after you staked and burned my pride and insolence in the parsonage, and a thousand times more on our wedding day, but I find I love you even more today. So there is your answer, Mrs. Darcy. I have known I loved you for about three minutes!"

Elizabeth laughed in delight, and was so satisfied with the delivery of such a load of cockerel that she laughed until she nearly cried. Of course, Mr. Darcy, was not a man who could abide crying in his own chamber, so he exerted himself to dry her tears; which took some doing.

Later, he asked somewhat sheepishly, but in complete earnestness, "When did you know you loved me?"

His lovely wife looked at him with a look only he understood as well; one that said she would answer him honestly and without prevarication.

She gathered her story to herself and said, "Do you remember one evening in Lucas lodge you said, and I quote, _'A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment.'_

Darcy laughed and said, "I did say that I believe, but not to you."

Giving her own giggle of amusement, Darcy's lady said, "Well, you said it to Miss Bingley, and Mary Golding heard it, so she naturally told Maria Lucas, who told her mother, who told my mother, who told Mary, who told Jane, who told Charlotte, who told me… so really, it was the same thing as saying it to me."

Darcy chuckled at the impertinence, and gave her a look encouraging less woolgathering and more progression in her tale.

Elizabeth looked at him carefully and said, "I am afraid that was a bit of an unfair statement about ladies in general. I once knew a lady who took offense at some silly insulting remark a man made at an assembly the very first time she saw him. She proceeded to hate him vigorously for most of a year before giving into the inevitable…"

Darcy looked in consternation and said, "She forgave an insult on their very first meeting? She must be a woman made of stern stuff."

Elizabeth laughed and said, "Yes, she was; but we digress from the matter at hand."

"Pray, continue"

Her smile told him that Mrs. Reynolds would not be _too_ insufferable at dinner, before she continued.

"In _my particular case_ , your assertion was actually correct in every particular. I fell in love with you in a single instant. I can remember the exact moment it happened. I was like being struck by lightning (at 3,000 to 1), or lit on fire from the inside (10,000 maybe?). Mother always told me it would be thus, as it always has been for Bennet women, but I did not believe it until it happened. I nearly collapsed on the floor with the strength of the emotion."

Feeling sheepish, Darcy asked, "Did I _actually do_ _something_ to earn your love, or am I just the luckiest man alive… wait, the latter is just a rhetorical question with the answer being obvious; but I am most interested in the former.

Elizabeth laughed and said, "Oh yes, you did something _very_ specific. Something monumental, something so impressive that the mere repetition of the tale cannot be done in ladies' company unless they are all sitting down, lest we have to deal with swooning. Yes, it was most impressive. It was _perfection, itself… even better than your first proposal."_

His curiosity nearly overwhelming him, Darcy refrained from asking more. Finally, his lovely wife continued, "Did you ever notice _not a single one_ of the matchmaking mamas in Hertfordshire threw their daughters at you, nor did any of the ladies attack your person… well, except for the obvious, Miss Bingley of course."

Darcy said, "Yes, I did find that curious. Why was that?"

Elizabeth said, "Because once my heart was lost to you, it was obvious to every woman in Meryton that you were no longer _in want of a wife_. They all know a lost cause when they see one, and turned their attentions in the proper direction… wagering on the outcome."

Darcy laughed and said, "I see. This is most singular. Can you tell me the act that inspired such unswerving devotion, because I can think of nothing I have ever done that should be sufficient for such a change of heart."

Elizabeth said, "Oh, do not be so modest, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. I can still make any lady in Meryton nearly giddy with delight just by repeating a few of the words. You are a local legend."

"I beg you, tell me what I did that was so impressive."

Elizabeth looked at him carefully, and said, "It was a feat worthy of a general. You could stop the war on the continent with words like his. It was an unbelievable performance, universally admired. Under intense pressure, and unrelenting attack, you did what has never been done before, nor since. _You made Charles Bingley Stop Talking_ _! For seventeen Minutes! It was perfect. It was so well done. The wording, timing and delivery was exquisite_. I can still make any lady in Meryton practically swoon with just a few words. My favorite is _'Tolerable enough I suppose'_. I knew at that precise moment that you were the man for me, and I practically swooned myself. It was at that exact moment that my heart was lost to you, and our destinies were sealed forever, _Mr. Tolerable Enough!_


	6. Trepilog

"Mr. Bingley, I have a confession to make."

Charles Bingley looked critically at his lovely bride, who was apparently somewhat embarrassed and would have enjoyed the moment immensely, were he not aware that he had to come clean himself.

"I am afraid I have one as well, Mrs. Bingley."

Jane and Charles Bingley looked at each other with an intense concentration, and at a signal nobody else would ever be able to see, both dropped to the floor on their knees, pulled out a pair of dice from pockets where they were _always_ kept to hand, and cast them at the same time.

" **Blast!** "

Jane Bingley turned red in embarrassment at the unladylike exclamation escaped her lips, but Mr. Bingley knew better… she was just toying with him, but far was fair. Her Snake Eyes said she had to go first, so he simply looked at her in expectation. She started to tell of her transgression, but before she could start, Mr. Bingley developed a cramp in his leg from the unaccustomed position on his knees, and fell forward on top of his lovely bride. She, being the most amiable woman in Hertfordshire, or all of England for that matter, did her duty to her husband, and massaged out any pain he had in his leg, and just for good measure, did a preemptive treatment on other potentially troublesome areas of his person. Being thorough and meticulous takes time, so it was a good deal later when they came back to the subject at hand.

Drawing a deep breath, Jane Bingley started her confession.

"I am afraid I have lost £3,000 of our personal fortune on a foolish wager. It seemed so certain, like betting on the sun or the tides, and I thought myself perfectly safe at three to five, but alas, the unthinkable has happened and I lost."

"Egads!" continued her husband, "what was the wager?"

Jane blushed and said, "I bet that Caroline would _not_ be married by summer. Who could imagine losing that one?!"

Her mortification was complete when her husband started laughing uproariously, and gradually turned into indignation when some minutes later he could not stop; despite the usual remedies.

He finally got himself under regulation, and said, "Oh, Mrs. Bingley… what a pair of fools we are. I myself just lost £2,000 on the same wager, although I got two to one… but still, who could possibly have imagined Caroline would be married!

Mr. Bingley looked pensive, and said, "We also have to come up with £20,000 for her dowry!"

They looked at each other and said at exactly the same time, "Blast, This marriage is going to be expensive!"

They stared at each other with the most intense frowns for some moments, but in the end, it was Mr. Bingley who cracked first and started laughing uproariously. That released the dam of laughter that Mrs. Bingley was holding back, and the couple proceeded to dance around the room like kangaroos, singing over and over again, " _We get rid of Caroline for £25,000_ ", interspersed with other similar comments, such as "What a bargain"… "Best Deal Ever!"… "Would have paid 30"… "40"… "50"… "Seventh best day of my life!"

Their merry dance was interrupted by a footman knocking on the door with a letter, which they both fell to like a starving wolves on a bucket of rabbit stew with toast. They both reached the critical section at the same time and started babbling with the news. "She is marrying a count!"… "In Paris!"… "She leaves in a se'nnight!"… "We shall have 500 miles of French countryside and the English Channel between us and her!"… "And the French Army"… "And the English Navy"… "And the English Army"… "And the Militia"… **"We will never see her again!"**

Such was their joy at the unexpected news, that Mr. Bingley felt it incumbent upon himself to attend to any potential cramps or other maladies his wife might have, as everyone knew that excessive laughter was bad for the humors.

Sometime later Charles Bingley looked at his bride in confusion and said, "If it is going to be nearly impossible for Caroline to get back here, how is she getting there in the first place?"

Jane Bingley reached for a letter on the side table and showed it to him. "Somehow, Lizzy became convinced we were going to bring her for our visit in the summer, so she asked our mother who asked Anne de Bourgh who worked with Lady Matlock who in turn engaged Princess Joyce who had her man of business engage a blockade runner to deliver Caroline to Calais in the middle of the night, and then had the Prince Regent sign a minor treaty with Napoleon to get him to have some of his army deliver her safely to Paris. All quite simple in the end, really."

Charles Bingley looked on at the full scope and scale of the endeavor in awe and said, "So, in the end, Lizzy did all this just to avoid having Caroline visit for a month?"

Jane just laughed and said, "Lizzy would do much more than that to avoid having her for company for even a se'nnight."

Charles laughed and said, "There is only one problem with that entire scheme, my love!"

"Please enlighten me, sir."

"I never threatened to take her to Pemberley at all. Darcy threatened to make me spend a fortnight with Kitty if I so much as brought her to any closer than Bedfordshire."

"Oh, Dear!"


	7. Quepilog

" _Mr. Hurst, we are saved!_ "

William Hurst looked at his wife of several years in surprise, wondering just what she could possibly mean. As the master of an estate, his diligence was suspect at best. That might have been less of a problem if his father had not been a wastrel and a gambler, and his brother even worse before his death; or his estate was not mired in debt up to its eyeballs. Hurst was perfectly suited for the role of idle, frivolous gentleman with the greatest of ease. He had in fact been practicing that very thing during his sojourn into the wilds of Hertfordshire, and he was quite certain he could shoot, drink, fish, gamble and sleep with the best of them.

However, upon returning to town and a meeting with his solicitor and his factor, he was astounded to find he was flat out dead broke. In fact, it would take a considerable improvement in fortunes to be flat out dead broke; as in reality, he had creditors at his heels, and many of them were wont to casually mention the very likely probability of his spending some considerable time in the company of Mr. Wickham; or what was left of him anyway. Now, Wickham was a fine enough fellow, although not a very good card player; but since he was in debtors' prison for the foreseeable future, Mr. Hurst was unconvinced it was a good place to spend his own time.

Hurst however, had not the slightest idea what to _do_ about his estate, other than the obvious endeavors of naps and port; neither of which seemed likely to be the cause of his wife's giddiness, so he said the first sensible thing he had said in a long time.

"How can you say that? You know we are completely destitute! It is really quite impossible!"

Were he a fine judge of countenance, he might recognize the look of smug satisfaction on Mrs. Hurst's face, but alas, he was really thick as a brick; and just looked on in confusion, while his wife endeavored to enlighten him."

"I have managed to acquire nearly _£50,000_ through a very clever set of wagers. I have taken the liberty of paying off all of our creditors, and insured our estate is once again generating an income. _We are saved_!"

Hurst beamed at his lovely wife in pride, admiration, and mostly relief that his idle lifestyle would not be disturbed, and that he would not need to be spending any time in a place as disagreeable as debtor's prison, which he was nearly certain would not have any shooting at all to speak of; although in its favor, it was certain to have quite a lot of cards.

Seeing how much better off he was with his wife in charge of things, he beamed at her and replied.

"My love, you are a genius. But tell me, how could we afford such wagers?"

Mrs. Hurst looked at him carefully and said, " _We could not_! Your mismanagement of our estate, along with your father's left us on a certain path to the poorhouse. I wagered big on a bet that could give me very good odds, and then I strove to change the outcome. I was able to achieve the impossible, and my wagering opponents wept at the injustice of my ability to arrange such a thing; although, truth be told, there was a certain amount of respect for the lady who called down lightning on demand."

Completely out of his depth, Hurst asked, "What extremely unlikely event were you able to facilitate?"

Louisa Hurst beamed in smug satisfaction, and boasted, "I got Caroline **married** – before summer – at odds between two to one and ten to one; depending on the gullibility of my opponents. Having secured more wagers than we could possibly pay, I got her out of England for good with odds of thirty to one."

Hurst's expression was no longer ambiguous. He looked at his wife in awe, and would have bowed and scraped to her if he knew how to do it properly. Louisa made a mental note to send him off to Hunsford for instruction. She had actually made that part of her wager with Mrs. Collins, and for her part, Charlotte saw nothing but good in the scheme, as having _two_ men sporting such speaking patterns would probably allow her to increase her chess match load; this being necessary as she was getting bored with the dozen she ran presently, and Lizzy, Jane and Lydia were not as available for diversion as they once had been.

Mr. Hurst did make some bowing effusions to the best of his ability, so Mrs. Hurst was sanguine that he was at least trainable. Having made the determination, she thought it might be time for lesson one.

"Mr. Hurst, there are another set of wagers floating around town that I may participate in which concern us."

Mr. Hurst actually arrested his arm's unconscious movement to the port bottle to ask, "Which are these?"

Louisa looked askance at him and said, "The first could have a tremendous payback. I can get fifty to one that you will stop drinking, stop gambling, learn to take proper care of your estate, and do you duty with respect to fathering an heir, and a few siblings."

Hurst looked at her in open faced astonishment and alarm! The concepts were so foreign to him, he could not come up with an analogy for their strangeness, so as always he decided to just skip over what he did not understand and move onto the next thing.

"And the other?"

Louisa locked eyes with him, and he could not look away, while she measured his worthiness down to the depths of his soul. A gentleman would consider this something like a Cobra Stare, but all the ladies called it the _Bennet Stare_. Louisa was so happy her best friend and sister Jane had taught it to her while she was at Netherfield. It was _very_ useful for attaching the undivided attention of their menfolk.

"The other is nowhere near as good a wager. I cannot even get one to one odds, since it is a truth universally acknowledged that it is very nearly inevitable. In fact, I may have to give one to two.

Her husband was now sweating and staring, and he asked, "And this wager of inevitability?"

"It presupposes that you will continue as before, shooting, drinking, napping and gambling; and that I will get fed up and strangle you in your sleep within the year."

Hurst turned red, or white, or whichever color one likes to use to describe abject shock and mortification. It was several moments before he could even listen, let alone speak.

Mrs. Hurst, sweetly asked, "I really depend on your advice as my loving husband, Mr. Hurst. Which wager should I engage in, the sure thing or the long shot?"

* * *

Quite some time later, Mr. Hurt found that his first set of lessons in his duty as a newly minted _proper_ gentleman with the ability to pay _proper_ and _particular_ attention to his wife was going surprisingly well. He of course was about ready to die, and to an outsider would look like one of Mr. Darcy's horses all lathered after a hard ride of several hours; but his wife assured him that his stamina would increase, and there really was a very niggling chance that the _petit mort_ would become the grosse _mort_ , but she wisely refrained from telling him she had laid down a few pounds on the off chance.

A fortnight later, a newly vigorous looking Hurst finally cleared the cobwebs from his head enough to start asking intelligent questions. The lack of port was helping substantially, as he was not at all certain which wager his wife had taken, and he was surprisingly sanguine about the activities which were replacing his vices.

"My dear, can you tell me how you managed the impossible! Not a single person who knows Caroline would have thought such an advantageous match could be arranged by Napoleon himself."

Louisa smirked and shared her tale, ready to burst with pride at her own cleverness, and ever so happy she finally had her husband back and his evil twin banished.

"Actually, Napoleon _was_ involved, but it was really a minor role. The rest was really quite simple. I merely threatened to have Caroline visit the Darcys for a month! Once that was done, it was only a matter of time until Mrs. Darcy took matters into her own hands. At that point, the outcome was inevitable!"

Hurst looked on in awe. Such a bold move was astounding and unprecedented, but confusing.

"You can hardly believe Mrs. Darcy would take your word for something she could easily sniff out as a wager you are involved in."

Louisa's look of smug satisfaction increased to the level sufficient to compete with Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself, and in a self-congratulating tone boasted, " _I_ _fooled_ _Elizabeth Darcy!"_

Hurst's admiration now knew no bounds, and he shuffled forward in his chair eager for details, saying, "How so? I must know!", being completely unaware of just how silly that sounded.

"I wrote her a letter in Charles' hand saying he – Charles – was going to bring Caroline to Pemberley… for a month."

Hurst could see, as any child would, that there could be only one possible outcome to such a letter, and said, "Yes, I can see how that would lead inevitably to this outcome. But how did you simulate one of Charles' letters?"

Louisa said, "Oh, that part was easy. I simply wrote a letter normally and then allowed a few of the hounds to mark it as their territory."

* * *

 _A/N: I warned you, it would be silly, but you didn't listen ;) I have a few more epilogs I could do, so if you want more just follow the story and tell me in a review you want more. IN FACT, if you want you can even suggest an idea for an epilog.._

 _Wade_


	8. Pentalog

**Smells**!

It was always the smells that told the real story of war, the general mused to himself. The poets and storytellers always focused on _sights_ and _sounds_ … the sight of thousands marching off to fight… the clash of blades… the echo of cannons… the screams of the dead and dying. The general however knew war was all about smells, the smell of too many unwashed men in too few tents or more likely lying on the ground in their greatcoats… men dying of disease before they had a single chance to test their mettle against the enemy… gunpowder and smoke… the rot of carrion on the fields. Yes, it was smells that told of war. Sights were nearly incidental.

For today, the general stood at the top of the ancient building and took the chance to smell the smoke of Moscow burning. It had been the oddest thing. He had taken the city, but contrary to all custom, the city's leaders refused to hand it over; and the czar pretended it had not happened. When the fires started, nobody know their origin but they were raging out of control and likely to destroy most of the city, leaving him with an empty, pyric victory at best.

The general had thought this would be the crowning triumph of this campaign, but victory had been short‑lived and a terrible winter seemed to be setting in. An attempted coup back in Paris meant that he would have to try to return with nothing to show for the fight, and with the severity of the weather, it seemed likely only a small portion of his gran armee would make it back to the dubious safety of German lands, let alone all the way back to France. His war was for the moment over, with no certainty at all that he would survive, let alone restart the conquest.

He sighed, and turned back to the rooms in the Kremlin he had taken as his own, and looked over the two dozen men he had painstakingly gathered.

The first dozen were scribes, men skilled with the pen and capable of the highest quality work. They had been writing down twelve copies of his Magnum Opus, his gift to posterity. The other dozen were riders who would take his work in twelve different directions in hopes that at least one copy would survive. He dared not take the time to have it printed, but hoped someone would one day.

The book contained all the distilled wisdom gathered from the things he had accomplished and all that the ways he had failed. Make no mistake, Napoleon Bonaparte believed in the _Great Man Theory_ that would so enamor Sir Winston Churchill in another century. He saw history pivoting on the shoulders of Great Men, such as himself; and he thought it his sworn duty to pass on what he had known to the next Great Man. He had to have faith that his words would reach him.

His book had it all: Strategy, Tactics, Logistics, Politics… and now, weather. All were detailed for the next generation. He only had one page to go, but it was by far the most crucial. It would detail with unflinching truth what had gone wrong in this campaign so the next _Great Man_ might not repeat his mistakes.

His dozen men prepared to write down his Great Words, so he began the last and most important page.

 _All of this you must do, but beyond that, if you wish to fully achieve greatness, you must follow these two rules, as all will be for naught otherwise. These rules must be considered sacred and sacrosanct. Do not violate them no matter what your generals and statesmen say. Do not violate either rule, even if God himself or your wife or mistress insists otherwise. Should Moses himself light your beard on fire and give you an eleventh commandment, or Noah himself tell you that you are not to be the one man on the Ark unless you relent, you must prevail. Should Thor smite you with his hammer and call lightning and thunder from the sky, hold steady to your purpose. Many will try to dissuade you, but you must stand firm. Fail with either rule at great peril to your army, and in fact to your very soul._

 _Rule #1: Never, ever, under any provocation, attack Russia in the winter. Remember the old Russian proverb, that their three best soldiers are October, November and December. Do not attack them in winter, or better yet, do not attack them at all. Best to stick with England, a tiny island of little importance. Look at a map. Russia Huge! England Tiny! Think about it! Plus Russians are tough as nails, since they live in such a horrible place. All the weaklings are already dead. **Take a pass on Russia!**_

 _Rule #2: Do Not Ever, Ever, **Ever** ; Under Any Conditions, With Even Stronger Cautions than in Rule #1, ever, ever, ever, take advice from any descendant of Countess Caroline de Montfort, nor cast even the tiniest and most insignificant wager with any descendant of Mrs. Francine Bennet_.

 ** _*** To be Doubly and Triply Clear - DO NOT UNDER, ANY CONDITIONS OR PROVOCATION, WAGER WITH A BENNET! ***_**

* * *

14 November 1812

Montfort, France

Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy,  
Pemberley, Derbyshire, England

Dear Mrs. Darcy,

You know that I do not like to be a shameless braggart… well, you know no such thing, and in fact you know the exact opposite to be true, so I must say it. **_I WIN! YOU LOSE!_**

In fact, I have so thoroughly bested you that I am sure you will hide your head in shame and retire from wagering entirely. You bet me ten to one that I could not marry a count. **I WIN! YOU LOSE!** You bet me fifty to one that I could not convince Napoleon to attack Moscow using the stratagems you suggested. **I WIN! YOU LOSE!**

In fact, I succeeded with the little General _despite_ your attempts to derail me with your obviously incorrect suggestions. I _knew_ you would seek to fool me by stating opinions you did not hold, but I clearly remembered you doing so at Netherfield, so I won by _following your suggestions to the letter! **HAH!**_

You have been done in by your own cleverness! I should not be underestimated.

Really Eliza, I must say I am ashamed of you. How could you lose so many high stakes wagers with one person?

Countessa Caroline de Montfort

* * *

10 December 1812

Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy  
Pemberley, Derbyshire

Mrs. Francine Bennet  
Longbourn, Hertfordshire

Dear Mama,

You were right. The whole scheme worked perfectly. My sources say the Russian Winter ground Napoleon's forces down to nothing, and we are quite safe from the madman now. I suspect it probably really annoyed the Russians, but since we will get our two generals back forthwith, and the Russians were trying as hard to strangle us as the French, we have no cause to repine. All is as it should be.

Caroline really is the most easily manipulated person we know, and I am including our menfolk in that category, but you were right. She is quite useful.

I am quite happy to hear that Kitty's little plan worked so well. Convincing General Malet that the general had died in Russia so he would stage a coup d'état was pure brilliance. Another dozen of Napoleon's generals executed by their own comrades, and the Little General left Moscow in a panic. I wonder how much of his Gran Armee will survive? Not much, I believe.

Your kitten is in the basket.

Your loving subversive

Lizzy


	9. Hexilog

"Welcome to the world, Benita!"

"That's a Spanish name!" said a thoroughly shocked Fitzwilliam Darcy to his cousin, General Richard Fitzwilliam.

The general looked at his cousin seriously, or as seriously as he could manage with the distraction of his beautiful newborn baby and lovely wife to distract him. They were all gathered around the birth bed, men and women, thus proving beyond any doubt that the Bennet women were both impervious to the normal rules of propriety, and that their husbands would agree to nearly anything. It was always best to be cautious with a Bennet, and nothing had ever gone wrong from following their advice.

Without batting an eye, the general said, "A bet is a bet, Darcy!"

This caused an even greater look of shock then before, and his elder cousin thundered, " **You named a child on a bet!** "

Not seeing the expected reaction he continued, "It is one thing to marry a woman in a bet, but to name a child on a wager is beyond the pale, even for a Bennet!"

Looking at Mrs. Fitzwilliam, he shook in mortification, and said, "I cannot believe even a Bennet would make the name a child is to be stuck with for life on a wager."

Mary Fitzwilliam looked steadily at her brother Darcy, and carefully opened her mouth to answer him reasonably. Unfortunately, in the end, she had no more discipline than her sister Lizzy, and she ended up just bursting out laughing. This left all of the other Bennet sisters laughing as well, and their menfolk joined in, having long ago learned it was usually for the best.

After what seemed quite a long time to Fitzwilliam Darcy, his sister Georgiana decided to take pity on the poor man, and reached into a basket sitting on the side table.

"Oh, Fitzwilliam you are so lovable I just want to kiss you," and with there very seldom being much gap between such a thought and the inevitable action, she just did that with a big sloppy smack on the side of the cheek which left the rest of the ladies laughing… at least those that were not doing the same to their own husbands… which, when you get right down to it was none of them.

Georgiana finally handed the letter to her brother with a smile.

 _May 4, 1784  
Anne Darcy, Pemberley, Derbyshire_

 _Lady Catherine de Bourgh  
Rosings, Kent_

 _Dear Cathy,_

 _I cannot believe I allowed you to best me in this matter. It is unaccountable that I should have been caught flat-footed by you of all people. I will grudgingly give you the respect you are due, but as your loving sister, I may just scratch your eyes out next time I see you._

 _But at any rate, a bet is a bet, so the boy will be named "Fitzwilliam", and you are welcome to try to marry your daughter off to him when she comes of age, but I am warning you. I will be prepared. I will raise the stubbornness son ever to come out of English parents, and you will not beat me again. He will be the densest, most taciturn and most immovable man alive. Try your best, Cathy. By the time you have tried your wiles on him that name you stuck him with will have given him at least fifty black eyes, and he will be quite the match for you. With that name, he'll probably even end up taking fists for the Matlock boy's misdeeds, and he will be as tough as a Russian._

 _Not only that, I am going to teach him that he should marry for_ _love_ _from the moment he notices girls are different until I drag him down the aisle with some woman you have never heard of._ _ **Love**_ _–_ _ **HAH!**_ Beat That!

 _Best you find someone else for Anne, as 'Fitzwilliam' will be impervious to your machinations. Test him at your peril._

 _Your 'loving' sister,  
Anne Darcy_

* * *

 _A/N: That's probably it for a while, although if I get more requests for epilogues I might be able to come up with a few more. Thanks to everyone who commented on this story, which is admittedly a bit off the rails. See you next time._


	10. Heptalog

_A/N: Hey gang, it's been quite a while since I made any epilogues but this one popped into my head a few weeks ago and I couldn't resist. I'm going to switch styles on this one to dialog-only like in_ _The Wedding Afternoon_ _, which I naturally recommend ;)_

 _Wade_

* * *

 **"** **Benita Rose Fitzwilliam** **! Come here this instant!"**

"Yes, Mama."

"You are in serious trouble, young lady!"

"Yes, Mama."

"Did you push that boy into the mill pond?"

"Yes, Mama."

"In the slimiest and dirtiest end?"

"Yes, Mama."

"In his best suit of clothes?"

"Yes, Mama."

"In a place where he could have quite easily bashed his head on a rock?"

"Yes, Mama."

"You embarrassed him in front of all his friends?"

"Yes, Mama."

"And did you shove him back in with a long stick when he tried to climb out? Do not think of lying, young lady. I know all."

"Yes, Mama."

"And all because of a silly little frog?"

"And a snake!"

"Was it poisonous?"

"Of course not, Mama."

"I must tell you young lady. _I am most displeased and very disappointed_ _!"_

"Yes, Mama."

"This behavior is completely unacceptable for a girl of your age! Very unladylike!"

"Yes, Mama."

"Thoroughly disappointing!"

"Yes, Mama."

"You are nine years old Benita! It is time you started acting your age. Is pushing a boy into a nasty, stinky, dirty mill pond with no consideration for his embarrassment or health or safety how I taught you?"

"No, Mama."

"Is overreacting to such a slight provocation as a non‑poisonous snake acting as I have taught you?"

"No, Mama."

"Is this acceptable behavior?"

"No, Mama."

" **You listen, and listen good young lady** **!** The next time you want Bennet Darcy in the slimiest and slinkiest part of the mill pond and wish to keep him there for a half-hour, _you should perfectly well be able to do that with your words alone_. Shoving is for boys."

"Yes, Mama."

* * *

"I hear, Benita pushed you into the mill pond, Son?"

"Yes, Papa."

"In the slimiest, greasiest, slinkiest end?"

"Yes, Papa."

"And held you in there with a stick… **a stick** … for a full half‑hour?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Embarrassing you in front of your friends?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Demonstrating a thoroughly unacceptable level of weakness for a Darcy?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Ruining your best suit, which will _not_ please your mother. You may be wearing a loincloth to church next Sunday."

"Yes, Papa."

"So, she just shoved you in?"

"Yes, Papa."

"And she never said anything? No words of anger? No explanation? No nothing?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Not a single word?"

"Not a word, Papa."

 **"Lucky Boy! You dodged a bullet there, Son!"**

"Don't I know it! It could have been SOO much worse. I could see her winding up to talk before she shoved me in."

 **"Big, Big, Bullet!"**

"Enormous!"

"Gigantic!"

"Colossal!"

"She might have kept you in there all day looking for a sharp rock to slit your own throat with."

"At the least! Probably worse."

"Do not _ever_ get in the crosshairs of a Bennet's girl's voice."

"Sage advice, Papa."

* * *

"Benita, why are you not dancing?"

"I cannot."

"And why can you not dance?"

"I refused a dance."

"Refused!"

"Yes"

"Refused the second dance of the night?"

"Yes"

"Who exactly is this boy that was so repulsive you gave up dancing for an entire evening just to spite him? I know how you love to dance."

"Well"

"Spit it out, girl."

. . .

"Bennet"

"Which Bennet? Since we discovered the other branch of the family, I cannot keep track of them."

"Bennet Darcy"

" **Bennet Darcy** **!** "

"Yes"

"You gave up an evening of your fondest pleasure just to avoid dancing with **your cousin**?"

"Yes"

"What did he do?"

"I overheard him boasting to his friends that he would dance with me. He even…"

"He what?"

"He made a bet!"

"And?"

" ** _A bet_**! I can barely tolerate the boy, and he made me subject of a bet! I have never been so insulted in my life."

"Insulted? **Why?** "

"The terms. He bet a farthing?"

" **A farthing!** "

"Yes."

" **Only** a farthing?"

"Yes"

"I will find whatever is left of his dead carcass and finish killing him. I can only imagine what you said to that."

"Probably not."

"So, what did you say, exactly, Benita? Sometimes you take Mama's lesson about using words as weapons a little too literally and I wonder if the boy will survive. Will I find him crying in the corner or looking for new trousers? Tell me, what toxic bit of vocabulary did you use? How egregious was the setdown? What exactly did you say?"

"No."

"What do you mean, 'No'?"

"That is what I said. 'No'"

"That's all?"

"Yes"

"Not another word?"

"Yes"

"In a ball where everyone will know you gave up an entire evening to avoid one set with him. No explanation. Nothing to either soften the blow or make it even worse? Nothing where he could salvage a tiny little bit of pride?"

"I said 'No'. Nothing else is needed or required."

"You are a heartless girl, Benita Fitzwilliam. He will never live that down."

* * *

"Son, I hear Benita turned you down for a dance without even the courtesy of a setdown."

"She did, Papa."

"She just said 'no' and nothing more."

"Yes, Papa."

"She gets more heartless every year. How is your pride to survive that?"

"I do not know, Papa. I cannot figure out why I even tried. We cannot stand each other."

"Yes, you two have never liked each other. I think she tried to strangle you in your cradle before either of you could even walk."

"Yes, we definitely do not like each other."

"Maybe you should just let her be. Eventually most boys learn a fire is hot and quit touching the stove."

"Sage advice, Papa."

* * *

"Benita, did you really take Bennet's favorite horse on a bet?"

"I did."

"That seems a bit heartless, even for the two of you."

"He should know better than to make a bet he cannot win."

"He's a boy."

"Maybe he learned a valuable lesson life. He will be a man soon enough and should know better than to be so foolish."

"What do you plan to do with it?"

"I was going to sell it to a man in Northern Scotland."

"Did you change your mind?"

"Yes, I found someone even farther away in Russian America."

"You really do not like Bennet, do you."

"No, Mama. I never have."

"I fail to see why. He has never done anything so very terrible… well, bad enough, but only marginally worse than other boys."

"He has been doing terrible things to me all my life. I cannot abide that boy."

"His father will not be pleased he lost a valuable horse."

"That is his problem. Maybe his father will finally beat some sense into him. The boy cannot get much worse."

"His mother will not be pleased he is such a poor sportsman."

"Really, Mama. He lost against a Bennet woman. Even making the wager is a sign of poor sense, but it is not as if he lost against a man. He should know better. Did Aunt Elizabeth teach him nothing?"

"You are heartless, Benita."

* * *

"I hear you lost a horse to Benita, son."

"Yes, Papa. I am sorry."

"That was the best horse in the stable."

"I know, but a bet's a bet, Papa."

"Well, yes, once she bested you there was no choice."

"No, there was not."

"Why do you keep at it? You know she is way smarter than you are. You will never win."

"She has always bothered me, Papa. Ever since she pushed me into the mill pond, I've been trying to get retribution. We can barely tolerate each other enough to survive family gatherings, and I just want to beat her, just once."

"Seems a hopeless business, Son."

"I know, Papa. I just cannot help it. If I best her just once I shall be content."

"Winning one bet of hundreds would not seem to be reaching very high, Son."

"She is a Bennet!"

"When you put it that way, I imagine you can dream, but personally, I suspect you are doomed to disappointment."

"I am afraid so. Maybe it's time to just give up."

"I would if I were you, Son. Face it… you are bested."

"Yes, I think you are right."

* * *

"Ho-Ho, Son. I understand you finally bested Benita in a wager. Congratulations, my boy!"

"Thank you, Papa. It feels good to finally win one."

"It has been a long and hard battle, Son."

"Brutal! I've spent an hour in the mill pond… thrice. Lost two horses, had to walk naked through school, crawl through poison ivy, steal honey from a beehive. I cannot even count how many bugs, worms and fish I have had to swallow, and let me tell you… that blistering hot sauce she imported from India was not that much fun. It has been brutal… absolutely brutal."

"I hope your terms were sufficiently egregious to extract your full revenge?"

"They were."

"So, what exactly did she lose?"

"You will see on Wednesday along with everyone else."

"So, it is to be a public humiliation?"

"More or less."

"You are heartless, Son."

* * *

"Benita, I hear Bennet finally bested you."

"Yes, Mama."

"Your bets have been getting worse and worse, with more and more egregious punishments for years. How bad is this one?"

"It was the biggest wager we have made."

"Oh dear! Just how bad is it? What were the terms?"

"You will see Wednesday. It is to be a public finish to this long battle."

"You will not give me a hint?"

"No, Mama, I shall not."

* * *

"I, Benita Sunset Fitzwilliam take thee Bennet Honeysuckle Darcy to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold…"

* * *

"Benita, I cannot believe you married a man on a bet, or that you even made such a big bet with someone you have hated man and boy since your cradles."

"Yes, it was a bit surprising."

"How terrible is it going to be?"

"I shall endure, Mama. A bet's a bet."

"What is that little smirk I see there, my girl. You are hiding something."

"I am only following your advice from a decade ago, Mama."

"Which advice was that? "

"You told me quite literally, ' _The next time you want Bennet Darcy in the slimiest and slinkiest part of the mill pond and wish to keep him there for a half-hour, you should perfectly well be able to do that with your words alone.'"_

"Yes, I remember that, but what does that have to do with anything."

 _"I decided I wanted him in the mill pond."_

"Why, you sneaky little minx. Does he know he has been played?"

"Who says it was he that was played?"

"You mean?"

"I mean he has been working at this for a decade. It is quite impressive when you get right down to it. How could you not love a man who would crawl through poison ivy or eat bugs over a bet and come back for more?"

"When you put it that way, I think the two of you deserve each other."

"Yes, Mama… that we do. Love is funny sometimes, but we do quite love each other"

"Yes, my girl. It most certainly is."


End file.
